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Updated: June 26, 2025
Well, there is no harm in telling you this Aunt Palmyra was one of my colleagues!" "I suspected as much," thought Juve, "but I wanted him to confirm it." De Loubersac was again the questioner. "Vagualame! You spoke just now of Brocq's mistress: if, as you seem to think, Nichoune had no such relation with the captain, where are we to look for his mistress?"
"Has she not told you, then, that she was expecting someone from her part of the country to call on her?" The innkeeper was leaning carelessly against the wall. He straightened himself a little. "Yes, Mademoiselle Nichoune has told us that an old musician would call to see her this afternoon, and that we must ask him to wait."... "Ah, she's a good, kind little thing! How courageous!
Nichoune was making a terrible row, and I hardly dared venture into the streets, I had so many creditors. "I tried to square matters with my conscience: telling myself that there was nothing compromising connected with these photographs: in fact, views of our barracks are to be found in any album on sale, however small.
"But all this does not exclude Fantômas as the guilty person!" "You go too fast, Fandor. I know who killed Nichoune!" "Oh! I say!" "But I do. Deuce take it, you do not suppose I go by what these officers of the Second Bureau are doing in the way of a search, do you?... They fancy they are detectives!" "Oh, that is going too far, surely!" expostulated Fandor. "No," asserted Monsieur Havard.
After all, he was not much astonished to find that Nichoune had not passed the letter on. But the other envelope bore an address which Vagualame gazed at reflectively. "Monsieur Bonnett, Police Magistrate." "She is selling us, by Jove!" he murmured. "There's not a doubt of it! The little wretch!... She has scruples, has she!... Her conscience reproaches her!
But, gentlemen, Vagualame was equally spying on France, a traitor in the pay of a foreign power: worse still, he it was who assassinated Captain Brocq: you know he was the murderer of the singer, Nichoune!... "This Vagualame made of me his thing, his slave! Alas! I cannot pretend that it was under the perpetual menace from this monster I became a traitor!
With the nimbleness of youth he put back the two letters, rapidly drew from his pocket a bundle of letters; with marvellous ability forced open a table drawer, and mixed them with others Nichoune had placed there. "There, my little dear!" said he, aloud. "There's something to do honour to your memory!" He closed the drawer in a second.
She could not have been in her best form, because when about to start her third verse she suffered a lapse of memory, hesitated, and started the fourth. This passed unnoticed by her audience, who gave her a vociferous ovation at the close. "The programme! the programme!" they yelled. As a rule Nichoune would disdainfully refuse to go down among the audience.
Loreuil seated himself next Juve. He spoke low. "He calls himself Butler ... says he is Canadian.... He declares he has been in London some time: it is a falsehood. I recognise him perfectly. I had already seen him at Châlons, when he had a connection with the singer Nichoune, and we suspected him of being the author of the leakages in the offices of the Headquarters Staff."
With that, the unknown displayed an accordion which was slung across his chest. Nichoune hurried to her dressing-room. She must get away before her admirers demanded her reappearance on the platform. The old man quitted the establishment. Stepping out of the vestibule, dimly lighted by a flickering jet of gas, he strode along the narrow and tortuous streets of Châlons at a great pace.
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